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The Guilt of War
"The Guilt of War" was written February 16, 2015, and takes place after the Season 3 destruction of High Central. Summary Full Text Orskaf Donz: ''“What must be done…no”'' “What should be done…” “Must be done…” Bits of dust and ash drifted down from the tower peeks as Orskaf slowly walked through the streets of Central. He slowly took off his helmet, surveying the scene, his face growing somber. He looked up at the smoky sky and the smoldering buildings, and then his gaze drifted down to the carnage left in the streets. Central soldiers, citizens, and aristocrats all lay strewn in front of the man. A few men from his regiment had fallen, but they were few and far between amounts the bodies of the people who used to live in this place. Frowning as he took it all in, Orskaf exhaled, his boot crunching on the debri riddled ground as he cautiously paced forward. He knelt, starring down at a young half breed boy who could not have been more than thirteen. His eyes were wide and empty as he lay where he had been struck down, dust clinging to the drying trickle of blood around the corner of his mouth. Orskaf had never seen half breeds as anything more than intelligent animals, and he certainly had no love for children…but seeing one like this… The man swallowed and carefully rolled him over, reaching down with two fingers and closing the body’s eyes. He took both of the boy’s hands and rested them on the pierced chest before standing up with a shaky inhale. Orskaf cleared his throat, nodding once, and then marching off back to the port. The boatman greeted him when he stepped aboard. Orskaf hardly acknowledged him though, grunting quietly. “Take us to the rebellion fortress of the Wilderwest.” “Aye sir…” the man hesitated. “Are you all right sir?” Orskaf slowly looked back at the city behind him, and he quietly shook his head. “What does it say for the gods that make such a thing as war?” he said with a strained voice. “I’m sorry?…Sir?” The boatman asked. But Orskaf didn’t answer, and left the man, trotting down into his ship quarters. He sighed as he pulled back a chair and sat himself at a small wooden desk, sniffing once and starring down at some ocean maps and charts of the territory. He remained sitting, unmoving, the sound of the creek of the sailing ship was the only noise that occupied the room. Orskaf swallowed tightly, his chin beginning to shake as his fingers worked and flexed on the desk. His vision blurred as he squinted his eyes tightly and small gasp left his lips. The Judge smacked the ink bottle violently off the desk with the back of his hand, his mouth opening wide as a few tears began to trail down his cheek. And then Orskaf lowered his shaking head into his hands, his shoulders heaving as he cried quietly in the solitude of his room. Related Threads Category:Season 3 Category:Events